


The Feverish Burn of Rage

by ThreeHeads4Paws



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Beta'd, Female Witcher, Following Geralt and Jaskier's encounters with original character, Gen, Generally each chapter is a different story, No Familiar Animal Characters Die In This Fic, Original Characters - Freeform, cos I'm paranoid I'm not good at writing anymore, see notes at end for explanation, tags updated as i go, unless otherwise stated, written out of spite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeHeads4Paws/pseuds/ThreeHeads4Paws
Summary: ‘No mage, no healer, no no one. Except, another witcher!’ Jaskier practically beamed with his genius.Geralt nearly choked on the water. ‘What.’ His yellow eyes bore into Jaskier’s skull.‘Err, another witcher?’ The bard offered.--------------------------------------------------A dire situation leads to a new acquaintance for Geralt and Jaskier...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Feverish Burn of Rage

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to The Witcher but I am doing some research on the Witcher Wiki as well as reading the books and playing the games.  
> If you are interested in _why_ I wanted to write this then check out the notes at the end :)
> 
> I imagine this is set sometime during Geralt and Jaskier's decade together during series one.  
> I have a few chapters planned out but if you enjoy it and an idea comes to you that you'd like to see just leave me a comment!
> 
> Shout out to Nas for being my Beta <3

Not far from the Southern edge of the woods of a small town called Ilneira, a periwinkle blue blur of a man was panicking. He flitted about a black shape on the floor, seemingly speaking to no one but himself. Beyond him deeper into the pine trees lay a bloodbath; thick white mucus on the floor of the surrounding woodland, dripping from trees and forming shimmering pools. It mixed with red and black blood streaks spread across the dry grass. 

‘Don’t you _bloody dare_ do this to me!’ The man was tearing some kind of fabric into pieces and pressing it onto the large form at his feet, carefully swiping other sodden pieces out of the way as he went. Nearby stood a chestnut mare, ears pricked forward, all attention towards the events happening in front of her.  
The form moved, slowly, grunting in a low, animalistic tone. It unfurled into a man, much larger in build than his companion, and as his hands released from his torso they unleashed a steady, sticky, red river of blood. 

‘Jaskier...’  
‘If I can just fashion a-a torniquet... maybe... wipe off this goop with something... then I can wrap you up and we can make it into the town-’  
_‘Jaskier.’_ The second growled iteration of his name made him pause. Jaskier finally made contact with dark slits in bright yellow eyes as they bore into his bright blue.  
‘Geralt, I-’  
‘I need a mage. Or a healer. Fuck, I’ll take whatever I can get.’ His moan of pain turned into a low rumbling growl in the back of his throat.  
‘If I hadn’t used up all your witchery, magic bottle bullshit, you wouldn’t be in this mess.’  
‘You didn’t use them up, Jaskier, you used them, which is the entire point of them.’  
Jaskier clearly wasn’t listening to the truth in Geralt’s statement as his breath started to catch, fighting back the tears threatening to cloud his vision.  
‘Listen to me,’ Geralt swallowed, thickly, and wrapped a blood-soaked hand into the cream shirt beneath the bard’s open doublet to garner his attention, ‘take Roach and ride to town. Find help, bargain if you need to, get herbs, whatever you can. We can work... With... I-it.’  
His last words were stuttered as he concentrated on putting more pressure onto the gaping wounds on his stomach to try to stifle the flow.  
‘Ok, ok. Just hold on until I return. Promise me?’ Jaskier was slowly backing away towards the horse, still not taking his eyes off Geralt, as if looking away would cause his immediate demise.  
‘Fine. Just go.’ Geralt was becoming breathless and dizzy from blood loss.  
‘Promise me!’  
‘I _promise_ , Jaskier, now go!’  
Jaskier turned and ran over to mount the horse, stumbling in his hurry. He began incessantly muttering into the mare’s mane as he mounted. ‘Now, I know you don’t like me but we’re a team now, born in a time of panic so I need you to not throw me off and take us into the nearest town as fast as your wonderfully talented legs can carry you.’  
As he settled into the saddle and brought the reins to his hands, Roach whinnied and turned to gallop North towards the nearest settlement. Geralt watched them go before slowly using one of the torn pieces of cloth to try to scrape some of the mucus away from his skin. As his wrist brushed against a small mound on his belt he hissed; it slowly started to burn through the top layer of skin. 

It took far too long in Jaskier’s mind to arrive at the edge of the town. He dismounted on shaky legs as soon as he could and tied Roach to the first secure post he saw, wrapping the reins in a terrible fashion but the horse stood steady, unmoving. Frantically, he looked around for the sign of an apothecary, a doctor, anyone that might be of use.  
Nothing.  
The clouds were starting to gather, signalling the beginning of rain as Jaskier threw himself into the open door of a blacksmith, immediately bristling at the intense heat. The man in front of the burning forge, large and round, built with muscle used to working every day at his craft, turned at the sound of Jaskier’s heavy breathing. A pair of iron tongs were held in one hand as he wiped them down with cloth.  
‘I’m sorry, friend, we are closed for the day...’  
Jaskier gathered his wits and on a deep breath spoke with such haste his words nearly melded together, ‘Is there a mage in this town? A doctor? A witch?! My friend... he-’ He couldn’t continue on his trail of thought but the urgency of the matter was understood.  
‘The only mage we have is at the castle; our Queen is gravely ill during her pregnancy.’ At the sight of all hope draining from the bard’s body he offered the only other knowledge that he thought could help.  
‘We have a witcher in town. Perhaps they have a potion? Or tonic, whatever, they must carry-’  
‘WHERE?!’  
Such a sharp, loud noise from such a slight colourful fellow threw the blacksmith off guard.  
‘Uhh, two doors down, I believe? Staying in the outhouse, the door with the black knocker.’  
Jaskier was already starting out the building, tearing through the doorway and out onto the cobbled streets.  
‘Good luck to you!’  
Barely hearing the send-off, Jaskier counted down two buildings and as soon as his eyes lay upon a black iron door knocker his hand was automatically banging upon the run-down wooden door, uncaring if he woke the whole building, street, or town. After three seconds of no answer he started again, the panic returning to run down his spine. What if the witcher had already left? What if he was out on a job? What if there wasn’t a witcher at all and there’d been a mistake or the townsfolk had already driven him out of town as they oft did-  
The door creaked sharply as it swung open unnaturally quickly on its hinges. A traditional-style hooded woollen cloak greeted Jaskier and he could have cried with happiness on the spot had the situation not been so dire in the moment. Before the witcher could utter a word or a growl or a breath Jaskier was talking.  
‘I have a witcher in the woods, injured, fighting... something, I can’t remember, please, he needs a tonic or herbs or whatever you can spare, please, he’s my friend,’ he gasped as his breath caught on the final words in a desperation to achieve some semblance of understanding for the witcher standing before him. They did not move and even though there was minimal height difference between the two, Jaskier still found himself shrinking slightly at the power exuding from beneath the cloak. After seconds the witcher’s head tilted slightly in a way that reminded Jaskier painfully of Geralt.  
Then the door was shut.  
Jaskier mouthed as if a fish had taken control of him and was on the brink of pummelling the wood, breaking it apart and clawing his way inside when it reopened and the witcher stalked out on to the street, satchel in hand and swords peeking out from beneath the heavy cloak, not waiting for Jaskier to follow. They strode past a nearby stable where a jet-black Friesian mare was standing, saddle still waiting to be removed before bedding down. Upon the disturbance she lifted her head towards her rider.  
‘Show me.’  
The accented voice was dark and fell like sweet-tasting venom into the night air. It held the same growling tone as that of Geralt and the one other witcher Jaskier had been briefly privy to during their travels but did not reach the same depths. He turned to run back towards where Roach was stationed as the black mare was led out onto the street and mounted by her witcher. Jaskier took Roach’s reins and clambered aboard, then took off back towards the woods; the black mare followed as he passed by the witcher. Together they galloped out of Ilneira, into the rapidly approaching night. 

As they entered the covering of the woods the first drops of rain cried from the sky. The two mares weaved through the trees, over bare roots and cracked earth.  
Finally, the horses came to a halt and Jaskier was the first to throw himself to the ground. Just beyond them lay Geralt of Rivia.  
Unmoving.  
So pale his skin was almost translucent when Jaskier dropped next to his form, staring at Geralt’s chest. He sighed heavily as he realised there was still movement, though weak and the man was deeply unconscious. Behind him the witcher alighted the mare, detaching the satchel from her side before approaching the pair. There was a clicking of glass as their hand searched for vials and bottles before pulling out a glass vial with a vibrant yellow hue and a small bottle of deep purple liquid. Handing first the purple to Jaskier they nodded towards Geralt before settling on folded knees just above his head. Jaskier took the potion and, uncorking the stopper, poured it into Geralt’s open mouth. As he finished the witcher placed their leather-gloved hands onto either side of the stark white hair and began whispering incantations under their breath. After they had finished the third round, they uncorked the yellow vial and moved to pour the contents over the still leaking wounds on Geralt’s abdomen. Geralt let out a breathy groan as the liquid seeped into his body. The new witcher stood and collected a large, thin blanket from the horse’s back before covering the entirety of Geralt’s body, then began to carefully wrap it around him before hosting him up onto their shoulders with seemingly little effort to place him onto Roach’s back.  
Jaskier quickly jumped up to help realising the witcher was preparing to transport Geralt out of the wood.  
‘I can sit up and keep him still,’ he offered, ready to hold Geralt onto the saddle.  
The new witcher paused as they assessed Jaskier from under their hood.  
‘Don’t touch his skin.’  
Nothing else was said as they slowly and carefully made their way out of the woods towards the town as the heavens opened above them. 

Back in the witcher’s accommodation Geralt was deposited onto the thankfully large bed as Jaskier set about gently and carefully, with artist’s hands, wiping away the remnants of the burning mucus from his bare skin. A bucket of fresh, cold rain water and a soft cloth had been provided whilst the horses were properly bedded down for the night. The wounds in Geralt’s chest has already stopped bleeding and the edges were beginning to pull together, whilst the mucus had created bright red burns across the uncut skin, resulting in patches of painful looking blisters. Jaskier finished removing the last traces of the offending substance, damp doublet discarded to the side and jumped as a thick bedroll and blanket were thrown down beside him; he hadn't heard the main occupant of the room return from the stables.  
‘Sleep. You both need rest.’  
The witcher unrolled an identical bedroll on the opposite corner of the room, next to a small, newly lit fire, and sat, back against the wall, ready to keep watch, the damp cloak not seeming bothersome. Jaskier decided against squeezing onto the spare section of mattress that currently hosted his friend and lay down the bedroll next to the bed, still in his blood-stained shirt ready to jump into action should Geralt awaken suddenly. 

\--- --- --- --- ---

He awoke staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The white paint used to cover the cracks and creeping damp peeling in places. The scent of spiced meat stew filled his nostrils as well as the usual underlying smell of horse and the new metallic scent of blood. Something else lingered in the background but he couldn’t place it.  
He tried to sit up, thankful but confused to find himself lying on a cushioned hay mattress. Immediately after tensing his stomach a dull ripple of pain flared through his entire body, his skin was sore; it felt like he was been ripped apart very slowly whilst being set on fire. He let out an involuntary groan of pain. As if by magic there was a pair of bright blue eyes hovering over his face at the slight noise.  
‘Geralt!’ The relief flooding from Jaskier’s being could be felt in the next town. He had clearly just awoken; his hair stuck out on ends and though his mouth was fully operational, as usual, his eyes took more effort to focus.  
‘Jaskier.’ Geralt’s mouth was dry as a bone and the words caught on his throat. ‘Where are we?’  
Jaskier stood, folding a blanket and some sort of bedding as he talked. ‘Well, after Roach and I galloped off to save your life I came to the centre of Ilneira where, would you believe our luck, there were no healers to be found! Something about royalty up at the castle on the other side of town. So, I swept into the local blacksmi-’  
‘The short version Jaskier, please. And do you have water?’  
‘Of course, of course.’ Geralt heard Jaskier rummage in a bag and he produced a small water skin, pressing it into Geralt’s hand. ‘Be careful sitting up, apparently you have healed to the point of closure but it’s not going to be comfortable.’  
Geralt gritted his teeth as he pulled himself into an upright position, carefully trying not to disrupt any of the remaining blisters on his chest and arms, leaning against the wall the bed was pressed up against. As Jaskier spoke he sipped at the flask.  
‘No mage, no healer, no no one. _Except_ , another witcher!’ Jaskier practically beamed with his genius.  
Geralt nearly choked on the water. ‘ _What_.’ His yellow eyes bore into Jaskier’s skull.  
‘Err, another witcher?’ The bard offered.  
‘Who?’  
‘Hmm, not sure, the whole keeping you in the land of the living was more important so we never got around to names. He set up the stew,’ he gestured to the pot simmering in the corner under the chimney, ’then went out, I assume to feed the horses. Roach is sharing with his mare next door. Rather secretive about it all now I think about it.’  
‘Jaskier, can you tell me anything about him. What sign?’  
Jaskier stared blankly at Geralt. The White Wolf sighed.  
‘Gather your things.’ He shuffled along the bed to rise, huffing in pain until he was standing straight.  
‘But the stew...’  
‘Jaskier.’ He stiffly moved over to the corner where their belongings had been piled up. ‘Unknown witchers are not to be fucked with.’  
‘You were an unknown witcher once. Without him... you would be dead. And I would be...’ Jaskier left the words hanging in the air as he spoke softly, eyes wide, picking at a loose thread on his bag.  
Geralt sighed in a way that seemed permanently saved for situations involving Jaskier.  
‘Fine. We will stay to thank him and then we leave.’  
Jaskier grinned before looking down at himself, the blood on his shirt now dark and crusted before looking up and taking in the remaining tatters of Geralt’s burnt and blood-soaked clothing.  
‘Any chance of some new clothes on the way out of here? I know you don’t mind running around looking like a werewolf’s dinner but some of us have an image to consider.’  
Geralt rolled his eyes.  
And froze as he caught sight of a figure in the doorway.  
The saviour, still clad in the woollen cloak, now revealed to be a deep midnight blue in the morning light, regarded Geralt from across the room. Deeming him either non-threatening or simply well healed, they walked over to the stew, moving silently on the hard flooring, using a hand wrapped in cloak to remove it from the fire. On the other side of the room, Jaskier was doing increasingly exaggerated head movements towards them for Geralt to follow. The witcher huffed a sigh then slowly approached the stranger, Jaskier following behind holding a pleasant, welcoming smile on his face.  
‘Geralt of Rivia.’ He nodded his introduction and fixed the hood with a stare as they turned to face him, ‘I would like to tha-’  
As he was speaking a gust of wind blew through a gap in the door, causing the stranger’s scent to travel towards Geralt. What he picked up had his blood running cold. Instinctually, he steadied himself, widening his gait. His right arm went back to cover Jaskier as his left prepared to reach for the dagger still attached to his belt. A growl erupted from his throat, followed by a menacing snarl, the likes of which Jaskier had only heard during hunts. He was pushing himself closer to Geralt’s back, eyes wide, glancing between Geralt and the witcher he’d trusted enough to heal his friend.  
‘Who are you?’ The words were almost lost in the animalistic rumble Geralt had taken on.  
‘Jarowska of Vaagandor.’ The voice was careful, ready.  
‘ _What_ are you?’ Geralt almost spat the question forward.  
‘A witcher.’  
‘No, you can’t be.’  
‘I am.’ A pale hand, this time un-gloved, long fingers with rough, claw-like nails, dipped into the cloak and pulled out a medallion, similar in size and shape to the one resting on the White Wolf’s scarred chest. The image of a coiled snake glinted back at the pair.  
‘Show me.’  
The hand released the medal which disappeared back into the thick fabric. Another appeared to lift and pull back the hood of the cloak. They untied the buckle and let it fall all the way to the floor.  
Jaskier opened his mouth to speak but found he had far too many questions to come to any coherent end.  
Standing before them was a head of shorn light blonde hair, so close to the scalp that from a distance it disappeared. Eyebrows blonde wih a dappling of brown whilst the eyes themselves were large with black, slit pupils and witcher yellow. There was clearly strength in the build but whilst Geralt was built and muscular there was more subtlety in the form, though both shared a factor of intimidating presence.  
The most obvious difference however, between the two witchers ,was the fact that the stranger in front of them was a woman.  
Her lips were pillowed and eyes cat-like in shape; her jaw and cheekbones were so striking that it would not be surprising if they could be used as weapons. Though her chest was dramatically flat in her white shirt, the medallion resting heavily against her sternum, her body itself curved out at the hips into a pair of strong muscled legs clad in leather trousers.  
‘When you are done staring,’ she pointedly looked towards Jaskier who was slowly extracting himself from behind Geralt, ‘shall we eat?’

**Author's Note:**

> First, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it... do feel free to leave a comment :) 
> 
> SO, the reason I was so driven to write this is that I had an idea involving introducing a female witcher to our favourite people and I wanted to do some research as I don't know much about the universe yet. And whilst searching for the lore involving female witchers I came across a comment by a man who stated that there weren't any female witchers because 'by nature men are physically superior' and he 'can't see any girl passing the trials ' and I SNAPPED. 
> 
> And here we are! (Also, there _are_ some female witchers in the lore history but we'll get to that in another chapter...)


End file.
